


Wildlings

by WhoopsOK



Series: Damp [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Creature Littles, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom Sam Winchester, Face-Fucking, Marking, Multi, Non-human Roleplay, Outdoor Sex, Roleplay, Scat, Squick, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: "Sam just breathes, pleasantly chilled in the damp morning air and thinking how wild and beautiful they are. He wants the wild inside him, he wants to swallow them whole and keep their fires burning in his chest forever."(Castiel is a little fairy and Dean is a little troll and Sam is the human who covets them.)Heed the tags. Read the author’s note.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Poop happens! If poop is too squicky for you, you might want to skip this one, doll.
> 
> For reference, chapter one is the before and after of the poop part from Sam’s POV. Chapter two is the explicitly shitty part from Castiel’s POV.
> 
> For further reference, nobody now or ever in my fics is going to _eat_ poop so if that’s a hard line for you, you’re in luck, it is for me, too.

Sam’s alarm clock goes off at five a.m. and he has hardly reached to shut it off when he hears the bedroom door creak half-shut, like someone peaking in had just run off silently down the hall. Even half asleep, he just laughs softly, unafraid, as he stretches. He feels a good day in front of him before he even gets his feet set properly on the floor.

By the time he has pulled on his sweatpants and hoodie, he can just hear the faintest footsteps rounding the corner down the hall to his right. He doesn’t see anything when he glances up, but then again, he doesn’t look very hard. He turns and heads towards the kitchen with nothing more than a soft, “Huh.” The fruit bowl, generally only ever filled and emptied by Sam himself, is looking a little sparse this morning. His eyes catch on the last peach in the bowl, the bite mark on the side, and he shakes his head fondly as he pulls out the milk.

The blender is loud, but not loud enough to cover up the sounds behind him – doors opening and closing, the pattering of feet, a smack, a squeak, and a giggle. He glances over his shoulder just in time to see a messy brown head disappear from the bottom of the entryway, soft tumbling sounds following its exit.

“Gotta check for mice, I guess,” Sam mumbles into his smoothie, looking down at his phone.

On these kinds of mornings, Sam knows he’s in for something like a game of hide and seek, but it’s always up in the air as to, well… _what_ , exactly, he’s going to be seeking and from where. When he finishes his breakfast and leaves the kitchen to see the garage door open, as well as the garage itself, he has a general idea.

Sometimes Castiel and Dean are not just his littles, but little wild things.

And one does not just wake up with little wild things in their bed. Wild things live, and must be collected from, the wooded area behind the Bunker.

Sam puts on his sneakers and, after a quick stop back by the kitchen, locks up and heads out on his morning jog. With little creatures out here, he keeps his rout a tight circle ten minutes and twenty three seconds around and back, fewer if he sprints. Having left behind his mp3, he heads out listening to the forest around him. It has been a while since the three of them have played this game, but new variables aside, he has a general idea of which patterns will not be broken.

Castiel and Dean like to play together out in the dirt and grass at first, by the tree with the big hole on the north side. As Sam starts up the trail and passes it, he can hear them, breathless as they roll around together. He doesn’t look at them, but his skin prickles; he feels them see him. It will be give-or-take twenty minutes before they separate, each to their own interests; Dean somewhere in the cool dirt by the old creek bed and Castiel somewhere by the berry bushes. They will not run from anyone who approaches them kindly, though how easily they will be subdued only the moment will tell.

Sam’s self-awareness and internal clock are both pretty excellent. He knows that by the time he’s properly sweating – _as though he has familiarized the forest with his scent enough for it to welcome him_ – it’s about time to start looking for the things he means to collect. Instead of completing the circle, Sam turns off down a smaller path. When he gets to the dry creek bed, Dean is laying naked in the dirt, staring up at him almost blankly. Sam does not miss, however, the way Dean goes flush when Sam comes into view.

“Well, look at you…” Sam says softly, eyeing the leaves in his hair and the smudges of dirt across his body. He smiles as Dean goes pinker, gets a little hard.

“We could be friends,” he continues and Dean blinks, arching an eyebrow. “I have something for you.” He moves forward slowly, as if Dean truly is a hand-shy, feral thing. “I know you’ll like it.” He doesn’t let himself laugh at the absurdity of the action as he pulls out his dick. He could get hard right this very instant at the peaceful curiosity on Dean’s face, but he forces himself to focus, to _let go._

Dean makes a low growling sound that shatters around a whimper when Sam’s piss lands on his chest. Sam didn’t use the bathroom this morning specifically for this reason, for the broken look on Dean’s face, the way his hands fist into the earth as he arches up off the ground. When Dean’s eyes stay locked on Sam, mouth hanging open limply, Sam gets brave enough to aim his stream up over Dean’s face. He can tell he got it right by the way Dean opens his mouth wider and starts to shiver, a line of pre-come rolling slowly down his dick.

Sam watches Dean swallow his piss and feels like his insides might be on fire. He swallows reflexively, watching Dean lay panting and shifting in the dirt and— _fuck._

“We could be friends,” Sam repeats as he finishes, rasping this time. “Ok?” And when Dean nods, “You can touch yourself now if you want to, but I think I can find someone to help you with that. Would you like that?” Dean whines, nods again. “Ok, then. I’ll go find you something nice.”

As Sam backs away, he watches Dean’s hands find his own nipple, tug on his balls, but carefully keep away from the straining red of his arousal. His throat is dry when he finally turns to jog away.

He finds Castiel weaving grass together, nude save for the grass crown already balanced atop his head and the berry juice on his cheeks, unbothered by the bee buzzing peacefully around him. Even though he doesn’t look away from his work, Sam could feel his attention on him almost the second he got close to the clearing.

“That’s pretty,” Sam says gently, sitting down cross legged a little distance from him. “Hi there.”

Castiel’s eyes raise to his, briefly, silently before settling somewhere around Sam’s mouth. _Hi._

Sam smiles and reaches into his pocket, tugging out a small packet of granola. He dumps some directly into his mouth, then pours some into his hand. He has to bite back a smirk as he watches Castiel’s eyes go wide with interest when he also pulls out a honey straw and pops it open with his teeth. “We can share, if you’d like,” he offers, drizzling it all over his hand.

Castiel sticks his lip out, blushed and annoyed at being so easily coerced, but crawls forward nevertheless when Sam’s softens his smile and extends his hand. Sam doesn’t bother hiding how hot he goes when Castiel begins eating, his teeth and tongue gently brushing Sam’s palm. When the handful is gone, Castiel doesn’t even pretend he’s willing to leave any honey on Sam’s skin. He sucks Sam’s fingers into his mouth, distracted enough to let Sam gently pet his hair.

“I found something nice for you,” Sam says, stroking his fingers over Castiel’s tongue, dick straining in his pants. He ignores it, tips Castiel’s face up when he tries to move towards it. He takes his hand off Castiel’s head and points in the direction he just came from, towards Dean writhing and piss-stained in the dirt. “He’s very sweet. I think you’ll like him.”

Castiel blinks at him demurely, sucking on his fingers once more before letting them slide out of his mouth with a pop that makes Sam leak into his pants.

(Sam is going to wait to come, specifically so he can fuck Castiel’s hot mouth until his voice is raw, so he can fuck Dean’s ass as hard as he can because Dean will let him, because Dean loves it when Sam takes him hard. Sam is going to wait, because _fuck_ it’s so good when little wild things are broken around his cock. Sam will wait.)

As if seeing the sudden near-feral light in Sam’s eyes, Castiel’s eyes go hooded and his pink lips twist almost towards a smirk. He also stands, leaving Sam sitting there trying to catch his breath, fighting down the urge to force Castiel down into the grass and fuck him right here under the sunrise.

Sam watches Castiel’s ass saunter away, but his patience does not fail him today. He decides to sprint back to the bunker, for no other reason than his body tells him to and he’s already smothered several impulses today.

After showering and lining the hallway to the showers with old newspapers, he goes back out to collect his wild things. When he reaches the tree with the big hole on the north side, he spots them instantly, heart thudding.

Castiel doesn’t look very different than usual. His face is still sticky and stained red from eating fruit, dirt on his legs and moss ground into his legs, like a little kid enjoying a roughhousing out in the country. Dean, however…

Dean is a _wreck_.

Sam’s piss should’ve well dried by now, but Dean’s damp again and a pretty vicious bite mark is screaming out from his neck _._ That’s fair enough, expected enough.

But he’s also got _shit_ all over his crotch.

Sam just breathes, pleasantly chilled in the damp morning air and thinking how wild and beautiful they are. He wants the wild inside him, he wants to swallow them whole and keep their fires burning in his chest forever.

“Hello again,” he says, steadily as he can manage.

 Neither of them ever speaks like this, feral little things, wary of human intentions. Dean’s eyes are blown wide where he’s crouched like a gargoyle beside Castiel, who just looks sleepily entertained as he sits cross-legged in the grass. He looks almost _proud_ , like a cat bringing back a stunned mouse and waiting to be praised.

Sam crouches slowly before him, more than willing to do so. “Would you like to come home with me?” he asks Castiel for the both of them, scratching Castiel’s head. He’s unsurprised when Dean looks to Castiel for guidance.

(Trolls are so much _baser_ than fairies, who are sophisticated and beautiful. Wild flowers versus leaf litter; sticky with wild cherry juice instead of streaked with filth.)

 Castiel looks back to Dean – who looks like whatever Castiel has done to him has actually blown him out of his own head – and seems to soften. The amused look on his face turns adoring and Sam goes warm with love for him. Castiel turns his cheek into Sam’s palm and nods.

Sam nods, too. “I’ll have to hose you off if you want to come inside,” he says and they look pleased about that.

When he turns the water on them, they scrub themselves for a spell – Dean’s hands shaking as it comes back to him what he’s scrubbing off, getting a half chub under Sam’s smirk – before they get distracted playing in the mud. Sam lets them play for a few minutes, laughing as they giggle and Castiel brings Dean back down to earth, before he makes them get up for a final rinse. He nods his approval as they stand, pleasantly rosy and dripping before him, eyes bright and happy. He opens the door.

“A kiss for entrance?” Sam teases and they both shift towards him as if magnetized. They keep their wet bodies away from his clothes and it makes their kisses seem shy and sweet on his cheeks.

Then Dean pinches Castiel’s ass and Castiel shrieks and they’re off and running, skipping carefully from newspaper to newspaper. Sam just shakes his head and lets them be.

Being patient and kind with magical things brings good luck, he knows that.

So he goes into the main area without worry, intending to sit and read until he knows what his lucky little friends are going to bring him. He hadn’t intended to nod off in the arm chair, but when he wakes up, it’s an easy rising to consciousness. He smiles at the smell of lunch roasting in the oven and two happy lovers crawling over his lap.

Sam doesn’t even realize someone has placed a ring of daisies on his head until well into their meal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam tells Castiel to go find Dean.
> 
> (Again, the face fucking tag is unrelated to the scat tag.)

Castiel finds Dean much the way Sam left him.

There’s perhaps more dirt smudged across his body, like he’d crossed from nipple to nipple, spread his legs a different way and reached for his own throat, but Castiel wouldn’t notice any of those changes. All he sees is a dirty, savage thing, smelling of piss and arousal, staring up at him desperately. He, at once, wants to give Dean so much that he falls apart, so that he is just this tightly wound coil of want, beautiful and unabashedly base. He thinks he knows how to get him there.

Dean just whimpers when Castiel goes to his knees and crawls over to him, straddling Dean’s waist. Castiel will not allow for modesty, so when Dean flinches away, whimpering, as Castiel tries to kiss him – as if Castiel couldn’t already smell the piss on his breath – he hums and tuts soothingly until Dean relents. Until he is whimpering around his tongue, shaking almost violently at the idea that Castiel will allow this.

Normally, Castiel would have a plan, would think this out, think out how to get Dean to allow himself to have it. But normally, Castiel wouldn’t be ass-naked in the middle of the woods, kissing the taste of piss out of Dean’s mouth. They are both natural things, pieces of the forest, so Castiel does what feels natural.

When his hand finds Dean’s arousal, Dean cries out, eyes glazed over, unseeing. His hands fumble restlessly, clenching into the dirt, reaching up for Castiel, stopping just short of sullying his skin. Castiel uses his free hand to place Dean’s hand on his thigh, purring at the drag of Dean’s soil-rough skin against his, smiling when Dean bucks into his fist. They can’t fuck out here, not like this, so he knows Dean thinks it’s a tease when he rubs Dean’s dick along his ass crack. He’s panting, growling with want, and Castiel keeps his eyes locked on Dean’s face because he wants to see what happens when—

Castiel relaxes himself, becomes a calm, mild force hovering over the writhing, nearly-blind desperation that has taken over Dean. He relaxes himself, with a steady breath and a sweet smile, just before he _pushes_.

Dean stops breathing the moment he registers the pressure on his penis, eyes blank with confusion, but in the next moment, the very _second_ he realizes he’s feeling Castiel’s _shit sliding down his cock,_ he seems to lose all restraint.

If Castiel really, _really_ tried, he could probably pick some meaning out of the nonsense Dean started wheezing, between gasps and choked wails, but really, he can read everything he needs to in Dean’s beautiful fucking face. The glazed, faraway look in his eyes is obliterated by his laser focus on Castiel, the hands bruising Castiel’s thighs, the way Dean’s heels digging frantically into the dirt. He’s fighting the war between not having enough air and trying to use what little he has to cry Castiel’s name.

Castiel groans as he finishes off, the final bit of his load curling around the base of Dean’s shaft. When he uses Dean’s penis – carelessly, as if that was its sole purpose – to wipe his ass clean, Dean nearly bucks Castiel off and comes with a cry so broken, Castiel thinks he might’ve given himself a sore throat. His breathing is loud and reedy after, mouth hanging slack and how could Castiel _not_ kiss him when his eyes have gone vacant like that?

Out of it, Dean is clinging to Castiel like he’s the only thing he’s sure is even real anymore and even _that’s_ a shaky “sure”. When Castiel pulls out of his embrace, it’s only to slide forward until his penis is over Dean’s lips. Dean doesn’t hesitate to lift his head and Castiel reaches down and guides Dean’s mouth onto his previously neglected arousal. Normally, he’d let Dean control his pace, but the way Dean’s mouth is loose and unresisting around him is too much for him to take quietly. He ruts into Dean’s mouth, gasping and humming with pleasure until his thighs burn. Dean doesn’t do more than lay there dazedly when Castiel finally presses deep and comes down his throat. Castiel is so busy catching his own breath, coming back down to the real world that he doesn’t realize that hissing sound is Dean losing control of his own bladder until he feels piss seeping into the dirt under his knees. He pulls his dick out of Dean’s airway, but Dean doesn’t even close his mouth, just panting and staring up at Castiel in awe, eyes damp.

The haze of possessive love that over takes Castiel is so thorough, he finds himself growling as he moves to bite Dean’s lips, bite his throat hard enough to make Dean moan brokenly at him, hands flinching tighter on Castiel’s thighs. He feels like he ought to sink his teeth in and never let go, ought to drag Dean back to Sammy like a tribute. As soon as the thought hits him, he realizes that is exactly what he intends to do.

As soon as he’s finished adorning him.

Getting Dean upright means getting to watch Dean’s face stretch and tremble as Castiel’s shit falls off his lap onto the ground. Castiel smiles at him and kisses him again before getting to his feet. He grabs Dean by the hair, forcing his head down so he’s curled over looking down at Castiel’s shit sticky on his dick, sitting solid between his thighs. He shakes, but doesn’t move when Castiel lets him go. Castiel reaches down out of kindness, his fingers fluttering close to make sure Dean’s eyes are closed, before pissing on the crown of his head. A low sound escapes Dean, but the stream of piss running down his neck seems to make him sag, no longer frantic about being taken down, just relaxing into the quiet around them. It makes Castiel feel better, too. As though now that Dean is piss marked by both he and Sam, nothing will question exactly who he belongs to – they’ll all _smell_ it on him.

Finishing, Castiel helps Dean up, carefully wiping away any of the piss that strayed too close to his eyes. He feels loose and happy as he takes Dean’s fingers and backs his way up the trail, Dean lurching drunkenly, _captivatedly_ behind him. When they reach the spot where they will meet Sam, Castiel sits down in the grass, lazily watching the clouds over head until Dean goes to his knees next to him.  Castiel glances over at him, at the slump of his shoulders, the bow of his head, and feels like a fairy prince who tamed a wild troll.

Castiel can’t wait to show their King what he’s captured any more than he can wait ‘til Sam makes Dean explain _exactly_ how it happened.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…sunlight is said to help with improving the mood; we should get some sun today!
> 
> (Also, an aside: Yellow jacket nests and fire ant dens are hard to spot, so please be careful in your enjoyment of the wild blue yonder. And as always, pee after sex, especially if there’s poop involved.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for Wildlings by WhoopsOK](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581416) by [grossalien (Propriety_is_not_a_priority)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Propriety_is_not_a_priority/pseuds/grossalien)




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